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1916 

MAIN 


GIFT  OF 


., 


Evening  Pastimes 


BY 
W.  A.   HAVENER 


1916 
CLOVIS,  NEW  MEXICO 


Copyright,  1916 
By  IV.  A.  Havener 


W.   P.   DUNN  CO. 

PRINTERS 
CHICAGO,    ILL. 


S35)5 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PRELUDE       5 

ONWARD 5 

THE  ROSES 6 

THE  CLOUDS 7 

No  ROSE  WITHOUT  ITS  THORN 8 

YOUTH  AND  AGE 10 

THE  DREAMS  OF  YOUTH 12 

WIFE  AWAY 14 

OUR  LOVED  ONES  GONE  BEFORE 16 

A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AWAY 17 

WHEN  I  AM  GONE 18 

POVERTY       20 

LINES  ON  AN  OLD  MANSION 20 

AN  OLD  STUMP 22 

THE  RIVER 24 

THE  MEADOW 27 

THE  MORNING  SUN 29 

A  WAYSIDE  RAMBLE 30 

OAKLAND 33 

WHEN  THE  SUN  GOES  DOWN 34 

A  MEMORY 36 

THE  OLD  HOME 42 

AN  OLD  DIARY 45 

THE  SEASONS  .  47 


3 3 Gl 30 


4  EVENING    PASTIMES 

PAGE 

WIFE  AND  I 47 

THE  RUINS  OF  AN  ANCIENT  PALACE 49 

THE  COTTAGE 51 

THE  UNKNOWN 53 

THE  ZEPHYR 53 

GOVERNMENT 55 

THE  ISLES  OF  REST 56 

MY  OLD  FRIEND  TOM 56 

THE  HIDDEN  HAND 58 

GENIUS 59 

REGRET 60 

PICTURES          61 


PRELUDE 

Come,  Muse,  and  help  me  pass  the  time  away 
And  bring  the  harp  of  some  wise  bard  along, 

Sweet  truths  in  music  rhymes  for  me  to  play — 
For  poetry  is  but  wisdom  set  to  song. 

And  sing  no  idle  lay  about  the  stars, 

Nor  wildly  scribble  with  a  half  crazed  pen 

About  the  far-off  moon  and  moon-lit  bars, 
But  come  and  let  us  chat  of  hearts  and  men. 

And  as  we  stroll  recline  upon  mine  arm, 
Suggest  some  olden  truths  for  me  to  say, — 

For  poetry  is  the  pleasing,  magic  charm 
Of  saying  old  things  in  a  sweeter  way. 


ONWARD 

Onward,  ever  onward, 
Tis  a  song  I  love  to  sing, 

Cheering  all  the  weary  hearted 
Onward  to  some  higher  thing. 

Onward  to  the  golden, 

To  the  happy  and  the  true, 

Not  to  fame  and  hoarded  riches 
But  some  deed  of  good  to  do. 


EVENING  PASTIMES 

Onward  to  the  righteous, 

All  who  go  at  duty's  call, 
Here  I  write  them  down  as  heroes, 

Though  they  battle  but  to  fall. 

Onward  to  the  noble, 

With  a  spirit  not  to  yield, 
With  a  heart  for  any  weather 

And  the  truthful  for  a  shield. 

THE  ROSES 

In  the  garden  bright 

With  the  sunny  light 
The  roses  through  their  tiny  buds  are  peering ; 

In  those  lonely  places 

Sad  with  sickly  faces 
They'll  gladden  drooping  hearts  with  gentle  cheering. 

O'er  each  painted  crest, 

In  each  leafy  nest 
Lie  artist  touches  with  His  love  adorning, 

And  bright  emblem  tints, 

And  sweet  sacred  hints 
As  lightly  resting  as  the  dews  of  morning. 

In  the  scented  air 

'Mong  the  flowers  there, 
How  sweet  the  fragrant  breath  the  rose  imparts, 

And  where'er  we  go, 

May  we  ever  throw 
Such  sweetness  kindly  o'er  all  human  hearts. 


EVENING  PASTIMES 

THE   CLOUDS 

Beneath  a  tangled  spread 

Of  foliage  overhead, 
Here  on  the  tufted  grass  I  lie, 

My  thoughts  at  idle  dreaming, 

The  far-off  clouds  now  seeming 
Like  snowy  mountains  in  the  sky. 

How  beautiful  they  sail, 
O'er  purple  crag  and  vale, 

Like  vessels  on  the  placid  blue; 
Ten  thousand  sunbeams  tint, 
Ten  thousand  emblems  hint, 

The  good,  the  noble  and  the  true. 

Now  comes  the  cruel  breeze, 
With  playful  lulling  ease, 

And  tears  the  saffron  clouds  apart, 
As  other  winds  have  torn, 
And  far  away  have  borne 

Some  cherished  idol  of  my  heart. 

The  splendors  stream  in  gold, 
The  clouds  like  cares  of  old 

Are  melting  in  the  smile  of  day ; 
O,  could  I  but  forget, 
The  grief  remembered  yet, 

And  learn  to  laugh  the  pain  away. 


8  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Their  sombre  shadows  fall, 

Alike  on  hut  and  hall, 
They  float  in  mid-air  like  a  feather ; 

And  may  thy  sorrows  rest, 

As  lightly  on  thy  breast, 
As  clouds  tossed  on  the  windy  weather. 

NO  ROSE  WITHOUT  ITS  THORN 

There  fall  in  ripples  from  the  magic  string 
These  sacred  truths  of  all  experience  born, 

The  sweetest  honey  has  some  bitter  sting, 
There  is  no  rose  without  its  hidden  thorn. 

Many  a  pretty  rose  of  fairest  hue 

Blooms  lovely  but  to  hide  its  prickly  spear ; 

Many  a  pleasing  smile  that  seemeth  true 
Is  closely  wedded  to  some  hidden  tear. 

O,  may  thy  every  tear  of  hidden  pain 

That  falls  upon  thy  troubled  bosom  make, 

Like  flowers  brightened,  freshened  with  the  rain, 
Thy  manhood  brighter,  fresher  for  its  sake. 

Again  I  hear  it  sounding  on  the  lyre, 

A  truth  that  all  who  strive  to  win  must  learn, 

The  rugged  ore  that  passes  through  the  fire 
Is  rendered  far  more  useful  for  its  burn. 

The  cross,  though  once  the  hated  type  of  shame, 
In  triumph  now  adorns  the  jeweled  breast, 

A  star  plucked  from  the  wreathing,  scorching  flame 
Becomes  a  thing  of  pride  forever  blest. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  9 

The  crudest  stone  oft  yields  a  gem  most  rare, 
The  homely  bud  oft  blows  the  sweetest  flower, 

And  oft  the  timid  lad,  half  starved  and  bare, 
Becomes  a  man  of  wealth,  of  fame  and  power. 

O,  who  that  sees  the  springtime  bud  can  say 

How  bright  and  sweet  a  rose  may  blossom  there, 

And  who  observe  the  rugged  boy  at  play 
And  tell  the  coronet  that  he  may  wear? 

Whate'er  the  height  that  wealth  and  birth  command, 
Though  destiny  crown  with  pomp  the  royal  born, 

The  world's  great  men  of  every  age  and  land 
Are  oft  in  youth  the  boys  who  plow  the  corn. 

Who  climbs  the  mountain  steeps  to  crowning  snows 
And  scares  the  eagle  from  its  high  retreat 

Must  learn  the  rule  that  every  climber  knows, 
To  quickly  rise  upon  his  own  defeat. 

And  though  unknown  to  verse,  unpraised  by  pen, 
Nor  crowned  with  wreath  in  fame's  eternal  halls, 

He's  yet  the  noblest,  bravest  of  all  men 
Who  rises  every  time  he  slips  and  falls. 

For  men,  though  great,  perfection  ne'er  attain, 

They're  still  like  babes  out  on  the  world's  broad  floor, 

They  slip,  they  slide,  they  fall  but  rise  again 
To  step  a  little  firmer  than  before. 


10  EVENING  PASTIMES 

They  are  the  men  who  climb  up  round  by  round, 
And  if  by  chance  they  faint  and  fall  today, 

They  try  again  until  at  last  they're  found 
Triumphant  over  all  that's  in  their  way. 

Are  faith  and  hope  today  becoming  cold? 

Are  threatening  clouds  impending  from  on  high? 
Tomorrow  they  will  wear  a  crest  of  gold 

And  flush  around  a  pleasant  sunny  sky. 

Tomorrow  we  shall  stroll  through  vales  of  ease, 

Forgetting  all  the  worry  of  today, 
Remembering  but  the  tall  and  graceful  trees 

And  happy  flowers  blooming  on  the  way. 

The  deep  veiled  years  of  life  our  destiny  hold 
Entombed  in  mystery  dark  as  ebon  night, 

But  if  the  future  could  our  fate  unfold, 

Would  men  be  happier  thus  to  view  the  sight? 

O,  let  us  live  those  years  in  sweetest  trust, 
But  let  us  ne'er  forget  at  night  or  morn, 

The  silver  dews  our  purple  fruits  may  rust, 
There  is  no  rose  without  its  hidden  thorn. 

YOUTH  AND  AGE 

Beneath  a  broad  oak  tree  I  saw  a  boy; 
He  shot  an  arrow,  whirled  a  spinning  toy — 
I  thought  that  this  was  surely  perfect  joy. 
He  paused  amid  his  gleeful  play, 
With  doleful  look  I  heard  him  say : 


EVENING  PASTIMES  11 

"Wish  I  were  as  big  as  daddy," 

And  he  sighed  with  boyish  tears, 
"Wish  I  had  a  suit  of  whiskers 

And  big  boots  and  guns  and  spears, 
For  I  want  to  be  a  soldier 

And  a  soldier  in  the  van, 
Then  I'll  fight  and  win  big  battles, 

Oh,  I  want  to  be  a  man." 

Thirty  years  have  come  and  gone 

With  old  gray  time  still  ambling  on ; 

Thirty  years  of  toil  and  wear 

Have  touched  with  frost  his  coal  black  hair 

And  wrought  sad  changes  everywhere. 

Beneath  that  same  old  tree  there  sat  one  day 
When  thirty  years  of  care  had  passed  away, 
That  self-same  lad,  yet  strong  but  partly  gray. 
With  doleful  look  methinks  I  hear  him  say : 

"Of  the  sweets  of  life  I've  drunken, 

Reveled  in  the  purple  wine, 
Wandered  o'er  the  northern  snow  lands, 

Slept  beneath  the  southern  pine, 
And  I've  found  that  every  triumph, 

Every  pleasure  has  its  pain. 
O,  the  happy  days  of  boyhood, 

Give  them  back  to  me  again." 


12  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Discontented  with  our  boyhood  days, 
Half  sad  in  all  its  mirthful  plays, 
We  long  for  manhood's  grander  ways, — 
But  when  to  manhood  we  have  grown, 
When  all  its  cares  are  fully  known, 
We  learn  the  man  has  ne'er  a  joy 
One-half  so  sweet  as  did  the  boy ; 
'Tis  thus  at  morn  we  wish  that  soon 
The  morn  would  blush  into  the  noon, 
And  when  it's  noon  we  sigh  in  vain 
And  wish  that  we  were  young  again. 

THE    DREAMS    OF   YOUTH 

Would  I  had  thy  touch  and  power, 
O,  fair  genius,  but  an  hour 

Here  to  write  upon  this  splendid  theme; 
Then  I'd  scroll  upon  these  pages 
That  the  joy  of  all  the  ages 

Is  the  glory  of  a  young  man's  dream. 

O,  the  beauty  of  that  dreaming 
When  the  far-off  hills  are  seeming 

Like  bright  castles  in  the  sunny  skies, 
When  the  fire  of  youth  enhances 
In  a  glow  of  rosy  fancies 

All  the  prospect  that  before  us  lies. 

O,  the  pleasures  of  deceiving 
Our  young  selves  into  believing 

That  this  world  is  but  a  place  of  joy, 


EVENING  PASTIMES  13 

When  the  shades  of  future  sorrow 
And  the  clouds  that  come  tomorrow 
Never  blind  the  sweet  faith  of  the  boy. 

O,  the  happy  days  of  olden 

When  our  hopes  were  bright  and  golden 

And  the  heart  was  full  of  sunny  dreams 
Fair  and  tender  as  the  flowers 
In  the  morning's  dewy  hours 

Sweetly  blushing  in  the  trembling  beams. 

In  the  dark  days  when  it's  snowing 
And  the  cold  bleak  winds  are  blowing, 

Then  in  sweetest  trust  we  long  for  spring, 
When  around  us  cares  are  thronging 
Then  our  worn-out  hearts  keep  longing, 

Longing  for  the  roses  June  will  bring. 

If  the  day  were  always  round  us, 
If  the  deep  night  never  found  us, 

Could  we  ever  see  the  shining  star? 
If  our  plans  were  all  victorious, 
If  our  lives  were  always  glorious, 

Would  we  really  know  what  victories  are  ? 

And  ye  stars  above  me  shining 
On  sweet  heaven's  soft  blue  lining, 

Divining  mortal  life  and  hopes  and  fears, 
Tell  me  now,  ye  starry  clusters, 
Laved  in  gold  and  draped  in  lusters, 

Will  the  fates  with  victory  crown  my  years  ? 


14  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Through  this  life  we  wander  groping, 
Onward  through  the  darkness  hoping, 

Hoping  for  some  sweeter,  brighter  day, 
Till  at  last  all  hope  is  ended 
Where  the  light  and  shades  are  blended 

In  a  gloom  that  never  rolls  away. 

As  a  child  when  lost  and  roaming 
Gazes  homeward  through  the  gloaming, 

In  the  distance  sees  a  glimmering  spark, 
Hope  still  sees  a  faint  light  quiver 
Far  across  the  dusk-fringed  river 

When  this  parting  world  is  growing  dark. 

What  is  night  without  the  beaming 
Of  round  moons  above  us  streaming? 

What  is  life  without  its  hope  and  plan? 
As  the  rain  is  to  the  flowers 
Thirsting  in  the  sun-scorched  hours 

So  are  faith  and  hope  to  thirsting  man. 

WIFE   AWAY 

It  seems  so  dark  and  lonely 

Without  my  love  tonight; 
It  takes  her  presence  only 

To  make  this  cottage  bright; 
For  care  is  always  lighter 

And  gloom  can  ne'er  be  found, 
The  very  rooms  are  brighter 

When  pretty  wife's  around. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  15 

A  feeling  of  strange  sadness 

Now  hovers  o'er  the  place, 
'Twill  quickly  change  to  gladness 

At  sight  of  her  sweet  face; — 
For  like  the  rosy  essence 

That  drives  the  morning  dews, 
Her  gentle,  smiling  presence 

Dispels  the  awful  blues. 

Those  evil  spooks  of  sorrow, 

Whom  mortals  ever  fear, 
Foreboding  bad  tomorrow, 

They  every  one  are  here; 
And  when  at  night  the  wind  blows, 

Through  all  the  house  they  roam, 
But  they'll  fly  out  the  windows 

When  pretty  wife  comes  home. 

O,  give  me  back  the  hours 

We've  lived  and  loved  of  yore, 
Together  plucked  the  flowers 

That  blossomed  by  our  door; 
But  hark !  a  sound  of  voices 

And  footsteps  drawing  near, — 
And  Oh!  my  heart  rejoices 

For  wife  and  babe  are  here. 


16  EVENING  PASTIMES 

OUR   LOVED    ONES   GONE   BEFORE 

'Tis  a  fancy  that  I  weave, 
Still  I  cannot  but  believe 

That  our  friends  who've  gone  before, 
Sometimes  drawing  close  and  near, 
Gently  whisper  in  the  ear 

Warnings  from  that  other  shore. 

Yesterday  I  sat  alone, 

On  the  mossy  marble  stone, 

And  I  heard  a  footstep  fall. 
Turning  quickly  then  around, 
Nothing  could  be  seen  or  found, 

No  one,  no  one  there  at  all. 

Once  I  was  about  to  go 

Where  the  dark  green  bushes  grow 

For  some  lilac  blossoms  fair ; 
Something  seemed  to  softly  say, 
"Come  away,  O,  come  away, 

There  is  danger  lurking  there." 

Then  I  saw  the  strong  wind  shake 
Wide  an  opening  where  a  snake 

Drew  itself  along  the  ground, 
And  I  know  that  warning  fear 
And  the  whisper  in  my  ear 

Were  no  fancy  dream  or  sound. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  17 

Often  when  I'm  half  asleep 
Strangest  touches  o'er  me  creep, 

Fading  voices  seem  to  call ; 
Wakened  with  this  quick  surprise, 
When  I've  opened  wide  my  eyes, 

Nothing,  nothing  there  at  all. 

Yet  I'm  sure  I  saw  the  trace 
Of  a  fading,  glimmering  face, 

Heard  a  light  step  on  the  floor, 
And  I  know  the  angels  send 
Every  one  a  guardian  friend 

From  the  loved  ones  gone  before. 

A  HUNDRED  YEARS  AWAY 

A  hundred  years  from  now 
'Twill  little  matter  how 

The  winds  may  blow  today ; 
We'll  neither  wish  nor  care 
For  pleasure  or  despair 

Beneath  the  marble  gray. 

Though  everything  we  try 
Should  quickly  go  awry 

In  bitter  grief  today, 
And  though  the  heart  should  break, 
'Twill  little  difference  make 

A  hundred  years  away. 


18  EVENING  PASTIMES 

And  if  fond  hopes  of  ours 
Should  droop  like  drooping  flowers 

Upon  a  wintry  day, 
What  will  we  ever  know 
About  our  earthly  woe 

A  hundred  years  away? 

The  happiest  days  we've  known 
Will  have  forever  flown, 

The  friends  we  love  today, 
Their  smile,  their  tender  call, 
Will  be  forgotten  all 

A  hundred  years  away. 

Keep  not  thy  flowers  till 
Thy  friend  is  cold  and  still 

But  give  them  now — today ; 
The  dead  will  never  care 
About  the  roses  there 

Upon  the  marble  gray. 

WHEN   I   AM   GONE 

When  I  am  gone,  let  roses  bloom 
In  beauty  near  my  mouldering  tomb 
That  I  may  breathe  their  sweet  perfume ; 
And  when  the  evening  shadows  come, 
I  beg  that  you  will  gather  some 
Red  velvet  roses,  those  I  crave, 
And  place  them  tenderly  on  my  grave; 
And  from  my  home  beneath  the  dew 
I'll  whisper  back  my  thanks  to  you. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  19 

When  I  am  gone,  and  in  the  spring 

The  sweet  birds  from  the  green  boughs  sing 

Or  warble  music  on  the  wing, 

I  beg  that  you  will  sometimes  pass 

Close  where  I  sleep  beneath  the  grass, 

That  you  will  pause  and  sing  for  me 

That  sweet  old  song,  "I  Still  Love  Thee" ; 

And  from  my  home  beneath  the  dew 

I'll  whisper  back  my  love  for  you. 

When  I  am  gone,  and  evenings  seem 
So  lonely,  and  you  sit  and  dream 
Of  old-time  friends  you  still  esteem, 
I  beg  that  you,  in  thought,  will  stroll 
Close  by  a  little  churchyard  knoll, 
And  think  of  me  in  that  lone  spot 
Where  all  of  man  is  soon  forgot  ; 
And  as  I  sleep  beneath  the  dew 
I'll  dream  of  sweet  old  days  with  you. 

When  I  am  gone,  and  men  are  bold 
With  ugly  frowns  and  words  so  cold, 
And  memory  turns  to  friends  of  old, 
I  beg  that  you  will  sometimes  stray 
Along  the  churchyard's  white  walled  way 
To  where  a  marble  slab  is  seen 
All  draped  in  matted  ivy  green; 
And  from  my  home  beneath  the  dew 
I'll  whisper  words  of  cheer  to  you. 


20  EVENING  PASTIMES 

POVERTY 

Go  search  from  snowy  peak  to  balmy  shore 

Far  through  the  seas  and  isles,  the  wide  world  o'er, 

Among  the  tribes  of  every  clan  and  name, 

This  sad  condition  still  remains  the  same, 

That  some  are  rich  and  some  so  direful  poor 

The  very  wolf  of  hunger  haunts  their  door, 

But  He  who  knows  what's  best  and  just  and  right, 

Hath  fixed  the  pretty  stars  to  shine  at  night, 

Some  dim  and  some  with  sweet  and  sparkling  light ; 

The  flowers  blooming  in  the  blithesome  field 

An  equal  phase  of  beauty  never  yield ; 

The  warbling  birds  that  carol  in  the  spring 

A  song  of  equal  sweetness  cannot  sing, 

And  yet  the  joyous  sparrow  does  not  hush 

Because  it  sings  not  sweetly  like  the  thrush ; 

And  why  should  man  become  so  grieved  and  sore 

Because  his  friends  grow  rich  while  he  stays  poor? 

There  are  no  jewels  like  the  jewel  health, 

And  true  contentment  gives  a  world  of  wealth. 

LINES  ON  AN  OLD  MANSION 

On  the  view  it  stands  out  grandly, 

Rich  in  beauty,  strong  in  power, 
While  the  clouds  are  circling  blandly 

Like  white  ships  about  its  tower ; 
And  the  sunlight  proudly  streaming 

Falls  like  gold  upon  its  walls 
Where  soft  music  pours  out,  seeming 

Like  enchantment  in  its  halls. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  21 

In  the  distance  swells  the  mountain, 

Blue  against  the  soft  blue  sky, 
On  the  greensward  plays  the  fountain 

With  the  lilies  blooming  nigh ; 
Here  is  seen,  in  fullest  measure, 

Wealth  in  all  her  bright  array, 
Here  is  found  the  gayest  pleasure 

Gladdening  every  passing  day. 

All  of  wealth,  its  pomp  and  glory 

Soon  must  fade  from  mortal  sight 
As  the  evening  white  and  hoary 

Darkens  into  shades  of  night  ; 
And  our  garlands  when  victorious, 

Every  wreath  of  fortune's  bloom, 
Are  but  chaplets  red  and  glorious 

Gathered  for  the  mouldering  tomb. 

As  the  summer  beam  caresses 

Lightly  o'er  the  crimson  flower, 
Then  the  Autumn  blast  distresses 

All  the  blossoms  in  the  bower ; 
So  our  hopes  are  like  fresh  roses 

Blushing  to  a  morning  sky, 
Soon  some  wind  of  fate  disposes 

And  our  flowers  droops  and  die. 

As  the  dewdrops  frozen,  sunny, 
Blight  the  green  leaves  of  the  glen 

So  the  showy  love  of  money 

Mars  the  nobler  worth  of  men ; — 


22  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Costly  pearls  and  golden  laces, 
Sparkling  in  a  hundred  styles, 

Never  charm  us  like  sweet  faces 

Wreathed  in  mirth  and  dimpled  smiles. 

As  the  chilling  winds  unkindly 

Toss  the  Autumn  leaves  of  brown, 
Fate  oft  lifts  the  buffoon  blindly, 

Whirls  the  giant  quickly  down ; 
See,  the  cloud  tints  piled  up  thickly, 

Swiftly  turning  on  the  blue, 
Fortune  changes  just  as  quickly 

All  the  rose  tints  of  her  hue. 

Like  the  hollow  grooves  of  ocean 

And  the  waves  of  snowy  crown, 
Life  is  but  a  wave-like  motion 

Filled  with  many  an  up  and  down ; 
Though  deprived  of  friends  and  treasure, 

Though  in  grief  you  pass  the  hours, 
Fortune  yet  in  days  of  pleasure 

In  your  path  may  strew  her  flowers. 


AN  OLD  STUMP 

The  vulture  sails  along  the  evening  sky, 
The  summer  day  is  drawing  to  a  close, 

I  linger  where  the  lengthening  shadows  lie 
Ere  I  depart  for  gentle  night's  repose. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  23 

I  love  to  sit  and  muse  here  all  alone, 

Beneath  the  purple  bough,  the  leafy  spray, 

In  this  sweet  hidden  spot,  unseen,  unknown, 
And  watch  the  crimson  darken  into  gray. 

The  mosses  hang  like  drapery  on  the  trees, 
The  curlews  from  the  dreary  marshes  call, 

The  locust  shaken  in  a  puff  of  breeze 
Lets  loose  its  snowy  blossoms  free  for  all. 

The  vine  creeps  gently  o'er  a  stump  so  old 

And  twines  like  mourning  round  its  aged  form, 

Here  sometime  stood  a  gallant  tree  so  bold, 
The  hero  of  the  midnight  thunder  storm. 

Perhaps  its  rails  may  even  now  resist 

The  pilfering  herd  the  verdant  crop  to  save ; 

Perhaps  its  giant  body  did  assist 

To  make  the  ship  that  rides  the  snowy  wave. 

Old  stump,  thou  bringeth  sweetly  to  my  mind, 
The  grandest,  noblest  man  I  ever  knew ; 

His  thoughts  were  love,  his  words  were  always  kind, 
He  gave  his  life,  his  all,  the  good  to  do. 

I  never  hear  the  Sunday  morning  bells, 
I  never  list  the  evening's  silver  chimes, 

But  pleasant  memory  gently,  sweetly  tells 
About  a  church  I  knew  in  olden  times. 


24  EVENING  PASTIMES 

The  pastor  kneeled  in  fervent  prayer  to  God, 
The  truths  of  holy  writ  he  did  impart, 

And  if  for  shame  a  sleepy  head  should  nod, 
The  light  rebuke  was  gentle  as  his  heart. 

But  now  he's  old  and  stooped  and  very  poor, 
His  feeble  tottering  step  he  slowly  drags, 

Too  old  to  preach  the  sacred  gospel  more, 
He  needs  must  live  in  want  and  pauper's  rags. 

O  shame,  to  let  the  old  man  hungry  go. 

He  freely  gave  a  life's  long  work  to  make 
This  erring  world  in  truth  and  wisdom  grow, 

And  men  are  nobler,  happier,  for  his  sake. 

As  this  old  stump  is  wrapped  in  flowering  vine 
And  clothed  from  wind  and  storm  with  verdant  leaf, 

So,  Lord,  may  thy  sweet  tender  love  entwine 
And  blossom  round  all  aged  hearts  in  grief. 

THE    RIVER 

I  love  to  wander  through  the  woods  alone, 
To  pause  by  running  brook  or  fallen  tree, 
I  love  to  sit  upon  some  hoary  stone 
That  madly  juts  from  frowning  bank  and  see 
The  great  broad  river  winding  to  the  sea ; 
'Tis  nice  amid  such  solitude  to  stay 
And  dream  away  an  hour;   'tis  joy  for  me 
From  this  lone  spot  to  view  the  parting  day 
Now  slowly  drawing  from  the  western  hills  away. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  25 

And  twilight  comes.    The  noisy  world  grows  still, 
There  float  along  the  sky  bright  purple  gleams, 
There  gathers  on  the  river,  field  and  hill 
A  lovely  tinge  of  roseate  hue  that  seems 
Fair  as  the  beauty  of  a  maiden's  dreams. 
See,  on  the  blue  the  white  round  moon  appears 
And  throws  the  mellow  light  in  silver  streams, 
The  zephyr  shakes  the  vine  now  bathed  in  tears 

And  jars  the  water  like  a  breast  disturbed  with  fears. 

* 

Away,  away,  a  million  miles  away, 
Deep  in  the  vault  there  shines  the  yellow  star, 
There  comes  a  beauty  trembling  on  its  ray, 
A  gleam  of  hope  and  glory  from  afar. 
I  sometimes  wonder  if  those  bright  things  are 
Sweet  flowers  blooming  in  eternity 
And  shedding  luster  from  its  azure  bar; 
If  in  the  loveliness  of  their  mystery 

Are  folded  mortal  life  and  hope  and  destiny. 

How  mild  and  fresh  and  balmy  is  the  night; 
Thy  clear  and  placid  waters  roll  serene 
Shot  o'er  with  magic  hues  and  amber  light, 
And  far  along  thy  either  shore  are  seen 
The   tinted   clouds   reflected   on   thy  green. 
There  is  a  rapture  wild,  a  something  bland, 
Deep  breathing  through  the  beauty  of  the  scene 
That  stirs  within  my  breast  the  pure,  the  grand, 
As  though  each  chord  were  touched  to  music  by  His  hand. 


26  EVENING  PASTIMES 

And  now  the  moon  sails  like  a  ship  on  high, 
Thy  glassy  wave  reflects  the  trembling  star, 
Thy  bosom  spreads  beneath  the  summer  sky 
While  o'er  it  playful  ripples  lightly  jar. 
I  hear  the  laugh  of  waters  from  afar, 
Along  thy  fragrant  bank  the  south  wind  blows 
As  sweet  and  mellow  as  fresh  flowers  are ; 
Enraptured  with  the  scene  my  spirit  glows, 
My  troubled  soul  is  drawn,  lulled  softly  to  repose. 

Forever  do  thy  pleasant  waters  flow; 
The  same  deep  vault  of  blue  is  arched  o'er  thee, 
As  in  the  distant  years  long,  long  ago, 
Thou  didst  roll  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea. 
The  mossy  rocks,  the  over  bending  tree, 
Are  mirrored  on  thy  dark  green  as  before, 
All  is  as  it  of  old  was  wont  to  be 
Save  that  the  men  who  wandered  on  thy  shore 
Lie  hidden  in  the  cold  damp  grave  forever  more. 

There  is  for  man  a  hope,  a  joy,  a  love, 
There  is  a  life  beyond  the  mouldering  grave ; 
I  read  it  on  the  twinkling  stars  above, 
I  hear  it  in  the  murmur  of  thy  wave, 
And  where  thy  noisy  waters  softly  lave 
Methinks  I  hear  it  sounding  o'er  and  o'er, 
Like  music  flowing  sweet  and  low  and  grave, 
An  echo  coming  from  that  other  shore, 
A  gentle  whispering  of  a  life  forever  more. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  27 

THE    MEADOW 
(The  Interview) 

I  went  down  in  the  meadow ; 

Among  some  violets  blue 
I  found  a  little  poem, 

I  bring  it  now  to  you. 

I  strolled  far  through  the  clover, 

And  on  my  pleasant  way 
A  tiny  blossom  whispered, 

"I'd  like  a  word  to  say." 

I  took  an  old  lead  pencil 

And  wrote  as  best  I  knew 
The  story  of  the  flower — 

I  hand  it  now  to  you. 

I  came  upon  a  brooklet 

With  banks  of  pink  and  green ; 
It  said  for  me  to  tell  you 

The  pretty  things  I'd  seen. 

And  so  I  come  this  evening 

Fresh  from  that  interview, 
And  bring  an  humble  message 

The  meadow  sends  to  you. 

(The  Message) 

When  the  morn  is  sweet  with  gladness 

In  the  early  dewy  hour, 
When  the  merry  gleams  of  madness 


28  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Leap  from  rose  to  purple  flower, 
And  the  light  winds  chaseth  after 

Golden  sunbeams  on  the  lea, 
Then  the  heart,  brimful  of  laughter, 

Throbs  in  unison  with  the  glee. 

When  the  eve  is  rich  in  splendor 

And  the  meadow  sweet  and  still, 
When  the  twilight  pure  and  tender 

Crowns  with  beauty  every  hill 
And  the  western  hues  are  yellow, 

Then  a  radiance  from  above 
Warms  the  cold  heart  soft  and  mellow 

With  a  pure  and  heavenly  love. 

When  the  moon  is  round  and  golden, 

Streaming  o'er  the  meadow  bright, 
When  the  starry  wreaths  of  olden 

Deck  with  pearl  the  brow  of  night, 
And  the  tired  world  sleepeth  under 

And  the  winds  in  stillness  lie, 
Then  the  soul  is  rilled  with  wonder 

At  the  grandeur  of  the  sky. 

In  the  wondrous  scenes  of  ocean, 

In  the  lovely  views  on  land, 
There  are  pictures  of  emotion 

Fashioned  with  an  artist  hand ; 
And  in  every  tinted  coral, 

Every  dewdrop  sparkling  clear, 
We  may  read  some  beautiful  moral 

Teaching  us  that  God  is  near. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  29 

Faith  and  love  are  ever  rinding 

In  His  handwork  near  and  far, 
In  the  meadow  brooklet  winding, 

In  the  rose  and  yellow  star, 
Artist  touches,  gentle  traces 

Of  a  hand  of  wondrous  power 
That  has  painted  all  the  graces 

On  the  pretty  meadow  flower. 

THE  MORNING  SUN 

With  gleaming  shafts  of  amber  light 
Thou  driveth  off  the  ebon  night ; 
From  o'er  the  hills,  gold  capped  and  blue, 
Thou  bringeth  fresh  as  morning  dew 
Joy  and  hope  and  new-laid  plan. 

Thy  red  light  sparkles  on  the  tower 
And  on  the  leaf  and  crimson  flower ; 
Thou  carryeth  hidden  in  thy  beam 
The  final  doom  of  every  scheme 
Dear  to  hoping,  trusting  man. 

From  some  weird  realm  of  mystery 
Thou  bringeth  life  and  destiny, — 
For  some  to  do,  for  some  to  die, 
For  some  to  laugh  while  others  cry 
Ere  thy  long,  long  day  is  done. 

O,  let  thy  gray  light  softly  fall 
Into  the  homes  and  lives  of  all ; 


30  EVENING  PASTIMES 

If  some  are  sick  or  some  are  sad, 
Then  let  thy  gray  light  make  them  glad, 
Bright  and  beautiful  morning  sun. 

And  come  each  morn  and  sweetly  shine 
On  drooping  heart  and  flowering  vine ; 
Awaken  all  the  brave  and  true 
Some  sweet,  kind  deed  of  good  to  do 
Ere  thy  long,  long  day  is  done. 

A   WAYSIDE   RAMBLE 

I  hide  me  from  the  Great  Orb  high 
Beneath  this  lone  and  broad  oak  tree, 
Far  off  a  few  white  clouds  I  see, 
I  hear  a  jolly  brook  go  laughing  by. 

Deep  in  the  tangled  thicket  near 
The  songster  of  the  woodland  sings, 
His  merry  warble  sweetly  rings, 
And  holds  in  magic  trance  mine  raptured  ear. 

Now  comes  the  cool  and  fragrant  breeze 
Fresh  from  the  blossoming  wildwood  bough, 
It  touches  lightly  on  my  brow 
And  gently  soothes  me  with  its  lulling  ease. 

In  yon  old  open  field  there  stands 
An  humble  cottage ;  'tis  the  home 
Of  those  who  till  the  furrowed  loam 
With  cheerful  hearts  and  ever  willing  hands. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  31 

I  ween  that  they  are  happier  now — 
Contentment  sweetening  every  charm 
Of  quiet  life  upon  the  farm — 
Than  many  wearing  coronets  on  the  brow. 

The  world  applauds  the  deed,  the  name, 
But  never  knows  the  muffled  part, 
The  bitter  cost  to  brain  and  heart 
It  took  to  climb  the  pink  crowned  hills  of  fame. 

Though  stubborn  fate  decree  that  few 
The  heights  of  glory  may  command, 
There  are  no  deeds  of  men  so  grand 
As  little  acts  of  love  we  all  may  do. 

I  speak  of  friendships,  sweet  and  old, 
And  friendly  deeds  without  renown 
Whose  doer  wears  no  wreath  or  crown 
Though  worthy  garlands  made  of  pearl  and  gold. 

Of  rural  homes  I  love  to  sing 
And  pleasant  fields  and  waving  grain 
Where  man  though  living  humbly  plain 
In  wealth  of  heart  is  rich  as  jeweled  king. 

We  yearn  for  lands  of  flowery  clime, 
We  fancy  we'd  be  happy  there, 
But  never  see  the  flowers  fair 
That  sweetly  bloom  about  us  all  the  time. 


32  EVENING  PASTIMES 

How  like  the  rainbow  arched  at  eve 
Whose  charm  at  our  approach  is  gone, 
Ambition  leads  man  ever  on 
With  luring  promise  often  to  deceive. 

Like  roses  in  the  Autumn  late 
Wind  blown  upon  the  frosted  air, 
Our  hopes  and  roses  everywhere 
Are  tossed  upon  the  cruel  winds  of  fate. 

The  bloom  of  wealth,  the  wreath  of  power, 
The  beauty  now  admired  by  all, 
For  which  men  strive  and  curse  and  fall, 
Must  fade  tomorrow  like  the  new  mown  flower. 

For  me,  I  love  this  outdoor  life, 
The  mellow  shade  of  dark  green  trees, 
The  grassy  beds  of  rest  and  ease; 
I  hate  the  futile  wars  of  city  strife. 

How  nice  to  stroll  in  morning  hours 
Among  the  joys  of  summer  fields, 
Or  golden  crops  that  Autumn  yields, 
How  sweet  the  freedom  and  the  smell  of  flowers. 

A  strong  south  wind  begins  to  blow, 
A  cloud  is  gathering  on  the  west, 
The  rain  will  soon  disturb  my  rest. 
So  fare  you  well,  my  friend,  for  I  must  go. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  33 

OAKLAND 

When  one  is  worn  out  with  the  care  and  strife, 

The  bustle  and  the  noise  of  city  life, 

'Tis  sweet  to  wander  to  some  country  scene 

In  early  fall,  where  life  is  grand,  serene, 

Before  the  frosts  have  touched  the  foliage  green ; 

To  hear  the  waters  fall,  to  breathe  the  air 

Of  peach  and  apple  orchards  ripening  there, 

Enjoy  a  table  filled  with  fruit,  the  charm 

Of  sumptuous  Autumn  on  a  well-tilled  farm. 

We  started  at  the  earliest  blush  of  dawn, 

Before  the  brighter  stars  were  fully  gone, 

And  as  we  slowly  jogged  along  our  way 

The  crimson  on  the  east  soon  changed  to  gray 

And  rosy  morning  faded  into  day  ; 

The  merry  birds  began  to  fly  and  sing 

And  warble  sweetly  on  the  airy  wing; 

The  herds  were  grazing  in  the  quiet  fields, 

The  farm  hands  reaped  the  harvest  Autumn  yields 

And  cozy  homes  were  dotted  here  and  there 

Like  gems  to  beautify  the  landscape  fair ; 

A  few  white  clouds  went  floating  slowly  by 

Like  snowy  vessels  on  the  placid  sky ; 

A  brooklet  sometimes  ran  across  our  way 

And  bubbling  o'er  the  pebbles  white  and  gray 

And  dancing  in  the  sunbeam's  rosy  light, 

Then  hurrying  like  a  school  boy  off  to  play, 

Down  in  the  meadow  soon  was  lost  to  sight ; 

A  mountain  rose  up  bold  against  the  view 


34  EVENING  PASTIMES 

And  stood  there  like  a  cloud  of  threatening  hue, 

And  sometimes  from  the  summit  of  a  hill, 

When  gazing  far  across  the  valley  still, 

The  Shenandoah,  a  thread  of  pearl,  was  seen 

Slow  winding  through  the  marshes  dark  and  green. 

Old  Oakland  now  came  fully  into  view, 

And  at  the  threshold  there  were  only  two, 

My  aged  aunt,  her  lovely  daughter  May, 

Who  took  my  grip  and  old  felt  hat  away, 

And  bade  me  rest  from  morning's  weary  roam, 

Sit  down  at  ease  and  make  myself  at  home ; 

And  aunt  and  daughter  smiled  a  welcome  true 

That  thrilled  my  heart  with  pleasure  through  and  through. 

There's  joy  and  love  and  power  in  a  smile 
To  win  the  human  heart  however  vile; 
O,  when  returning  from  a  foreign  land, 
How  sweet  to  grasp  an  old  friend  by  the  hand 
And  watch  the  honest  smile  of  welcome  play 
Upon  his  features  like  a  morning  ray ; — 
The  true  heart  ever  thrills  with  joy  to  trace 
The  smile  of  greeting  on  an  old  friend's  face. 

WHEN  THE  SUN  GOES  DOWN 

Life  is  sweetest  in  the  hour 
When  the  dews  are  on  the  flower 
And  the  world  is  gay  and  bright 
In  the  rosy  morning  light. 
May  this  be  a  sunshine  day 


EVENING  PASTIMES  35 

Filled  with  work  and  joy  and  play, 
In  the  eve  a  purple  crown ; 
May  there  be  no  ebon  cloud 
On  the  far  west  like  a  shroud 
When  the  sun  goes  down. 

Life  is  grandest  at  the  noon, 
Yet  the  noonday  hour  must  soon, 
With  the  mad  rush  of  the  day, 
Like  a  sweet  dream  pass  away  ; 
May  I  leave  fore'er  behind 
Tender  words  spoke  soft  and  kind 
And  good  deeds  of  fair  renown  ; 
May  the  even  too  be  clear, 
No  regret  and  not  a  fear 
When  the  sun  goes  down. 

When  the  day  shall  close  for  me, 
Through  the  dusk,  O,  may  I  see, 
As  the  evening  shades  draw  nigh, 
Stars  of  hope  up  in  the  sky ; 
When  the  threshold  I  attain, 
May  there  be  no  blur  or  stain 
On  the  pure  white  of  my  gown, 
And  may  faith  still  point  the  way 
Through  the  shadows  and  the  gray 
When  the  sun  goes  down. 


36  EVENING  PASTIMES 

A  MEMORY 

This  life  is  half  a  vain  regret 
Of  some  mistake  we  should  forget, 
Some  part  we'd  like  to  act  once  more, 
And  act  it  better  than  before. 

I  sometimes  dream  of  other  days 
When  I  was  glad  in  youthful  ways, 
Enjoyed  those  charms  our  young  years  give, 
My  only  care  to  laugh  and  live. 
Far  in  the  past  I  often  see 
Half  hid  in  folds  of  memory, 
A  graceful  form,  a  face  divine, 
A  lovely  girl  I  once  thought  mine, 
Whose  gentle  name  was  Jennie  Lynne. 

Oft  in  the  twilight  glow  we  sat 

Out  on  the  vine-draped  porch  to  chat ; 

The  moments  flew  with  swift  wings  by, 

The  stars  came  in  the  soft  blue  sky, 

The  moon  rose  up ;  smiled  sweetly  down 

On  rustling  vine  and  snowy  gown ; 

Her  dad  retiring  for  the  night 

Within  put  out  the  old  lamp  light ; 

And  still  we  sat  and  lingered  on 

Scarce  knowing  how  the  time  had  gone, 

And  still  we  sat  and  whispered  love, 

The  leafy  vine  around  above, — 

No  sound  disturbed  the  night's  sweet  hush, 

No  eye  to  see  her  smile  or  blush. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  37 

O,  a  bonny  girl  with  a  tangled  curl 
In  a  sweet  breeze  from  the  south, 

O,  the  joy  and  bliss  of  a  rapturous  kiss 
Pressed  right  on  her  rosy  mouth. 

Now  the  moon  goes  back  of  a  cloud  of  black 

Like  a  child  that  goes  to  pout ; 
O,  my  pretty  miss,  may  I  steal  a  kiss, 

Quick  before  the  moon  comes  out? 

Down  in  the  field  we  often  met 
Beneath  a  tree  that  stands  there  yet 
And  if  by  chance  the  one  was  late 
The  other  never  failed  to  wait. 

There's  a  lassie  there  awaiting 

'Neath  the  old  tall  poplar  tree 
With  the  pansies  on  her  bosom 

As  she  watches  there  for  me, 
And  her  eyes  are  true  and  mellow 

And  her  sunburnt  ankles  brown 
And  she  looks  just  like  a  princess 

In  her  pretty  calico  gown. 

And  she's  worth  indeed  a  hundred 

Of  your  girls  with  painted  face, 
She  can  smile  the  sweetest  welcome, 

Of  deceit  there's  not  a  trace, 
And  her  glossy  hair  when  tangled 

In  the  summer  wind's  caress 
Makes  her  look  just  like  a  princess 

In  her  pretty  calico  dress. 


38  EVENING  PASTIMES 

But,  O,  the  curse  that  poverty  brings, 
How  bitter  too  it  sometimes  stings, 
And  I  a  rustic  lad  so  poor, 
My  father's  house,  it  had  no  floor, 
But  built  of  logs  it  humbly  stood 
The  humblest  in  that  neighborhood ; 
While  Jennie's  dad  possessed  a  place 
Where  comfort  always  smiled  with  grace, 
But  yet  too  poor  to  much  assist 
His  married  children  to  exist ; 
I  saw  no  hope,  I  saw  no  way, 
And  so  I  said  to  her  one  day : — 

(I  said) 

"I  love  with  all  my  heart,  I  vow, 
But  am  too  poor  to  marry  now ; 
I  love  too  well  to  drag  you  through 
The  drudgery  that  the  poor  must  do : 
You'd  soon  grow  tired  to  live  all  shut 
W'ithin  the  walls  of  some  log  hut  ; 
Some  day  I'll  build  a  mansion  fair 
And  you  shall  reign  my  wine  there." 

(She  answered) 

"I'll  live  in  wilds  and  solitude, 
In  pine  log  cabin  rough  and  rude 
And  be  your  wifie  glad  and  true 
Just  so  I'm  in  that  home  with  you." 


EVENING  PASTIMES  39 

(I  replied) 

"No,  no,  sweet  Jennie,  it  would  break 
My  very  heart  to  have  you  make 
The  sacrifice ;  we'll  love  and  wait 
Until  we've  grown  quite  rich  and  great, 
And  then  we'll  build  a  mansion  grand, 
The  very  best  in  all  the  land." 

But  Jennie  looked  sad,  sad  with  fears  ; 

We  kissed  and  parted  then  with  tears. 

I  wandered  to  the  far  off  west, 

And  sought  my  fortune  with  the  rest 

Along  the  orange  blossom  shores 

Down  where  the  blue  Pacific  roars. 

Next  settled  on  the  sunny  plain, 

Soon  pulled  up  stakes  and  moved  again; 

The  sought  good  place  did  ever  seem 

A  luring  myth,  a  vanishing  dream, 

As  far  as  I  have  ever  gone 

I've  always  found  it  farther  on; 

At  last  I  grew  so  awfully  poor, 

Grew  ever  needier  than  before, 

I  ceased  to  write  sweet  Jennie  more. 

When  many  years  had  passed  away 
In  sober  thought  I  sat  one  day, 
Recalled  the  past  to  studied  view 
As  men  will  often  sit  and  do ; 
My  heart  was  full  of  love  and  pain, 
I  longed  to  hear  her  voice  again. 
I  started  back  still  sad  and  poor 


40  EVENING  PASTIMES 

For  that  rude  home  I  loved  of  yore ; 
Within  that  house  I  felt  forlorn, 
A  stranger  now  where  I  was  born ; 
With  faltering  step  I  sought  a  few 
Of  those  dear  friends  that  I  once  knew 
And  asked  for  her,  my  love  of  old, 
And  this  is  all  that  I  was  told: 
They  said  that  she  had  married  Jim 
And  lived  in  yonder  hut  with  him. 

I  scarce  believed  the  words  they  said, 
But  yet  felt  faint  of  heart  and  head; 
I  rushed  with  hurried  step  and  will 
Off  to  that  cabin  on  the  hill 
And  as  I  drew  quite  close  with  fear 
A  lovely  vision  came  out  clear 
Of  smooth  mown  grasses  o'er  the  ground 
And  gravel  walks  all  winding  round. 
•    The  house  was  built  of  logs  of  pine, 
And  o'er  the  porch  there  ran  a  vine 
With  blossoms  sweet  and  red  and  gay 
As  open  in  the  month  of  May ; 
I  knocked  upon  the  old  oak  door ; 
It  opened  on  a  polished  floor, 
And  I  was  asked  to  have  a  seat 
Within  a  room  so  clean  and  neat, 
I  blushed  to  have  such  muddy  feet. 
The  whitewashed  walls  were  fresh  and  light, 
The  cupboard  showed  its  crockery  bright, 
And  there  sat  Jennie  neat  and  trim 


EVENING  PASTIMES  41 

And  by  her  side  that  rascal,  Jim, 

And  he  was  gay  as  he  could  be, 

Just  laughed  and  giggled  at  poor  me ; 

Fll  envy  him  until  I  die ; 

The  rascal  had  more  sense  than  I. 

I  said  farewell  and  went  away 

A  wiser  man  that  summer  day, 

And  as  I  slowly  walked  along, 

My  step  was  weak,  'twas  never  strong, 

I  felt  my  mind  was  almost  wrong ; 

I  stumbled  to  the  old  roadside, 

Sat  down  and  thought  of  suicide, — 

For  O,  the  world  of  joy  and  bliss, 

I  came  so  near  and  then  did  miss, — 

A  sweeter,  neater  home  than  this, 

A  prettier,  truer  wife  to  kiss, 

No  mortal  man  from  hut  to  throne 

Has  ever  loved  and  called  his  own. 

These  simple  truths  I  would  impart 
Since  I  have  learned  them  well  by  heart ; 
We  do  not  need  a  mansion  grand, 
The  finest  structure  in  the  land, 
To  lead  and  live  a  joyous  life 
With  some  sweet  lassie  for  a  wife; 
It  does  not  take  a  marble  hall 
To  make  a  happy  home  at  all ; 
But  in  some  humble  cottage  neat, 
With  pleasant  wife  and  children  sweet, 


42  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Man  spends  life's  sweetest,  brightest  days 
Unknown  to  fame  and  fashion's  ways. 
No  royal  gown  with  silken  lace 
Can  give  a  form  a  sweeter  grace, 
No  sparkling  stone,  no  ring  of  gold 
Can  give  a  hand  a  prettier  mould ; 
The  smile  of  love  at  home  is  worth 
More  than  the  brightest  gems  of  earth ; 
Alas,  I've  learned  it  all  too  late, 
For  bachelorhood  has  been  my  fate, — 
But  who  sighs  not  quite  oft  in  vain 
To  do  some  deed  all  o'er  again, 
For  who  can  live  and  never  make 
In  this  old  world  some  sad  mistake? 

Before  I  close  I  want  to  say, 
For  I  am  wiser  now  and  gray, 
Young  man,  however  abject  poor, 
However  dark  the  road  before, 
You  marry  just  the  girl  you  love, 
And  trust  in  her  and  God  above, 
And  though  no  mansion  looms  in  sight, 
The  years  will  bring  you  out  all  right. 

THE  OLD  HOME 

Come  spend  the  evening  here  with  me; 
Here  stands  the  house  where  I  was  born 
And  here  I  passed  life's  dewy  morn. 
Come  sit  beneath  this  old  familiar  tree. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  43 

The  splendor  rests  on  field  and  hill 
And  spreads  a  veil  of  sweet  repose 
About  the  lilac  and  the  rose 
And  falls  in  beauty  on  the  meadow  rill. 

Now  after  years  of  weary  roam, 
The  years  that  changed  these  hairs  to  gray, 
I  sit  in  solemn  thought  today 
And  view  the  tender  scenes  of  childhood's  home. 

And  as  1  fondly  ramble  o'er 
The  grassy  lawn  adorned  to  please 
With  shady  walks  that  wind  with  ease 
Sweet  memory  brings  the  past  to  life  once  more. 

The  mosses  hang  like  beards  of  gray 
From  yonder  trees  and  all  the  place 
Looks  aged  like  a  wrinkled  face 
That  shows  the  traces  of  a  happier  day. 

I  wander  to  the  old  East  room ; 
Far  through  the  dusk  of  misty  years 
A  fancy  picture  now  appears 
Of  youthful  faces  full  of  rosy  bloom. 

I  follow  where  the  old  path  goes, 
I  trample  on  the  flowery  sod 
Where  oft  my  infant  feet  have  trod 
And  left  the  wounded  violet  crushed  with  woes. 


44  EVENING  PASTIMES 

There  stands  the  shrub  still  living  on 
With  dark  green  leaves  and  blossoms  gay. 
I  set  it  there  one  cold  March  day 
Long  in  the  years  of  youth  forever  gone. 

And  where  yon  hillside  strikes  the  view 
How  oft  I've  plucked  the  flowers  fair 
That  grew  in  wild  profusion  there 
When  rambling  with  some  friend  my  boyhood  knew. 

And  there  was  one  with  graceful  brow 
And  laughing  eyes  and  tangled  curl, 
A  tall  and  lovely  blushing  girl, 
The  children  often  call  her  grandma  now. 

O,  does  she  ever  think  of  me 
And  how  beneath  yon  fragrant  vine 
I  used  to  hold  her  hand  in  mine 
And  watch  the  moonbeams  playing  on  the  lea? 

And  oft  there  came  at  eve  a  friend, 
A  neighbor  from  across  the  way, 
To  chat  with  father,  old  and  gray, 
And  at  our  hearth  a  pleasant  hour  to  spend. 

The  rose  still  blooms  upon  the  lawn, 
Hard  by  the  purple  lilac,  too, 
But  those  kind  faces  I  once  knew 
From  hall  and  shady  bowers  I  find  them  gone. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  45 

The  old-time  songs  are  hushed  and  still, 
A  stranger's  step  is  in  the  hall, 
No  sound  of  friendly  voices  call, 
They  sleep  in  silence  on  yon  old  gray  hill. 

And  when  the  evening  sun  goes  down, 
I  love  to  watch  the  darkening  west 
And  dream  of  friends  and  lands  of  rest 
Beyond  the  sunset  hills  of  gold  and  brown. 

There  come  to  mind  where'er  we  roam 
The  fireside  joys  remembered  yet; 
Can  tender  memory  e'er  forget 
The  laughing  voices  heard  in  childhood's  home  ? 

There  come  to  every  heart  and  brain 
Sweet  dreams  of  friends  with  winning  ways 
And  evening  strolls  in  olden  days 
We  love  to  live  in  fancy  o'er  again. 

AN  OLD  DIARY 

Oft  I  go  to  memory's  dusty  closet 

For  an  old,  old  book  all  scribbled  on, 
With  its  blurred  leaves  in  my  own  hand  writing, 

Written  in  the  years  forever  gone. 

How  I  love  to  ponder  o'er  its  pages, 

Though  the  leaves  are  writ  in  awkward  rhyme, 
But  they  tell  me  of  a  friend  so  gentle 

That  I  loved  long  in  the  olden  time. 


46  EVENING  PASTIMES 

'Twas  a  childhood  friend  I  loved  so  fondly, 
With  the  careworn  wrinkles  on  her  brow, 

With  her  glossy  hair  fast  whitening  silver, 
And  I  love  her  just  as  fondly  now. 

I  remember  well  her  old  sunbonnet 

And  her  smile  of  love,  her  eyes  of  brown ; 

I  remember  how  we  plucked  the  flowers 
In  the  cool  before  the  sun  went  down. 

As  I  gaze  today  from  manhood's  summit 
Backward  o'er  the  past,  o'er  childish  plays, 

Through  the  gloom  I  see  fond  memory's  picture 
Of  a  face  I  loved  in  those  old  days. 

'Twas  a  gentle  face  all  lit  with  sunshine 
And  as  fresh  as  half  blown  roses  are, 

And  it  smiled  into  my  childish  heartaches 
With  the  gladness  of  the  morning  star. 

'Twas  a  gentle  face  all  lit  with  sunshine, 
Of  the  dearest  friend  I  ever  knew, 

And  its  sunshine  fell  on  all  my  sorrows 
With  the  sweetness  of  the  falling  dew. 

Do  you  ask  to  know  my  friend  so  gentle, 
With  the  old  sunbonnet  on  her  head? 

O,  that  true  friend  was  my  own  dear  mother, 
And  she  sleeps  today  among  the  dead. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  47 

THE    SEASONS 

Tis  winter,  gray  winter,  and  the  North  wind  blows 
In  a  chilling  blast  o'er  the  frozen  snows, 
And  the  white  flakes  whirl  in  a  blinding  swarm, — 
But  the  flowers  bloom  in  my  heart  still  warm 
By  the  fireside  safe  from  the  winter's  storm. 

'Tis  spring,  green  spring,  and  the  earth  long  sad 
Wears  a  smile  today  and  the  fields  are  glad, — 
May  my  deeds  smell  sweet  as  the  fragrant  flower 
On  the  red  rose  bush  in  the  garden  bower 
Decked  with  pearls  of  dew  in  the  morning  hour. 

'Tis  summer,  glad  summer,  and  the  fields  are  seen 
Wearing  still  their  robes  of  a  springtime  green, — 
May  my  heart  keep  young  all  the  summer  through 
As  the  fields  keep  fresh  in  their  springtime  hue, 
Though  my  hopes  prove  false  and  my  friends  are  few. 

'Tis  autumn,  rich  autumn,  and  I  now  behold 

Fields  of  wondrous  wealth  clothed  in  brown  and  gold, — 

May  my  life  be  rich  when  I'm  old  and  gray 

In  the  wealth  of  deeds  of  a  summer  day 

When  the  fields  were  green  and  my  heart  was  gay. 

WIFE  AND  I 

We've  lived  the  years  of  life  away, 
The  years  that  turned  our  hair  to  gray, 
We've  passed  o'er  many  an  up  and  down 
As  does  the  road  that  leads  to  town ; 


48  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Of  smiles  and  tears,  of  grief  and  care 
And  poverty  too  we've  had  our  share ; 
We've  grown  quite  rich  in  recent  years, 
Of  want  we  have  no  longer  fears, 
We  live  within  a  mansion  fine 
And  fields  and  herds  and  lands  are  mine ; 
But  still  from  all  this  wealth  of  ours 
I  turn  to  other  scenes  and  hours — 
A  cottage  home  among  the  flowers 
Where  wife  and  I  one  summer  day 
First  started  on  our  wedded  way, 
And  memory  fondly  lingers  o'er 
That  cottage  where  we  lived  of  yore 
And  were  so  happy  and  so  poor; 
The  happiest  days  we've  ever  known, 
The  days  that  have  forever  flown, 
Were  passed  by  wife  and  me  alone 
With  children  neat  and  love  our  own 
In  that  sweet  cottage  near  the  pines 
All  draped  in  morning-glory  vines. 

I've  learned  upon  my  wedded  way 
Some  things  that  I  would  like  to  say ; 
I've  learned  that  gold  can  ne'er  acquire 
One-half  the  things  our  hearts  desire ; 
That  tender  words  and  love's  caress, 
When  our  sad  hearts  are  in  distress, 
Are  worth  far  more  than  pearls  or  dress. 
No  road  that  leads  through  shadows  gray 
But  love  can  brighten  into  day 
As  sunshine  drives  the  mist  away ; 


EVENING  PASTIMES  49 

No  threatening  cloud  so  dark  and  bold 
But  tender  love  can  line  with  gold; 
And  though  in  purse  we're  awfully  poor 
And  though  our  cottage  has  no  floor 
And  heaven's  stars  shine  through  above, 
In  all  that  happy  hearts  may  hold, 
In  fortune's  purest  pearl  and  gold, 
Are  we  not  rich  as  kings  of  old 
When  home  is  brimming  full  of  love? 

THE  RUINS  OF  AN  ANCIENT  PALACE 

The  evening  splendors  stream  o'er  crumbling  walls, 
No  sound  disturbs  the  stillness  of  the  hour 

Except  the  sound  of  distant  waterfalls 

That  rumble  from  afar  with  weakening  power. 

I  sit  here  in  the  gloaming  all  alone, 

I  feel  so  strangely  sad,  I  know  not  why  ; 

My  memory  strays,  my  thoughts  are  not  my  own, 
They  wander  back  to  other  days  gone  by, 

When  youth  and  hope  were  on  the  buoyant  brow, 
When  youth  and  love  were  in  the  trusting  heart, 

And  all  the  future  seemed  to  me  somehow 
With  nothing  but  gay  pleasures  to  impart. 

The  stories  by  the  evening  fireside  told, 

My  mother's  smile  that  made  our  home  so  bright, 

The  rosy  fancies  wrought  by  youth  in  gold, 
All  these  come  back  to  me  again  tonight. 


50  EVENING  PASTIMES 

But  gone  are  all  the  little  friends  I  knew 
In  those  sweet  days  of  innocence  and  play ; 

Yet  recollection  brings  their  faces  back  to  view, 
Their  smiles,  their  tears  and  all  they  had  to  say ; 

And  when  in  far-off  lands  I  idly  roam, 

Though  time  has  wrought  the  change  of  many  a  year, 
I  ne'er  forget  sweet  childhood's  cherished  home, 

Fond  memory  ever  holds  the  picture  dear, 

Of  low-roofed  cottage  and  the  aspen  trees, 
Beneath  whose  mellow  shades  I  oft  did  spend, 

At  cheerful  romp,  perhaps  at  playful  tease, 
The  hours  of  pleasure  with  my  little  friend. 

In  after  years  of  age  we  hardened  grow, 
Grow  hard  and  solemn  in  the  solemn  truth ; 

In  after  years  of  life  we  learn  to  know 

How  glad  were  all  the  frolic  days  of  youth. 

For  manhood  brings  its  hopes  and  failures  fast, 
In  purest  trust  we  weave  the  petty  plan, 

We  hope  till  hope  is  lost  in  death  at  last, 
Such  is  the  common  lot  of  struggling  man. 

O  time !  what  wondrous  changes  thou  hast  wrought — 
The  older  to  the  newer  must  give  way, 

The  force  and  magic  of  the  earlier  thought 
Is  lessened  in  the  progress  of  today. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  51 

O  time !  what  wondrous  changes  thou  hast  wrought — 
The  forms,  the  customs  of  an  older  day, 

Its  cherished  fashions,  now  are  held  for  naught, 
Lost  in  the  splendor  of  the  modern  way. 

In  harmony  science  rolls  serenely  on, 
The  centuries  all  seem  moving  to  a  plan, 

A  year  of  onward  progress  scarce  is  gone 

Ere  some  new  victory  crowns  the  work  of  man. 

We  marvel  at  the  things  that  men  have  done, 
How  wide  the  fields  of  conquest  may  extend, 

And  if  the  centuries  will  forever  run 

Along  the  ways  of  progress  without  end. 

And  yet  we  know  that  like  this  fallen  stone, 
The  thrones  of  earth,  its  castles  of  renown, 

And  all  of  earthly  grandeur  ever  known 

Must  yield  to  time,  must  fall  and  crumble  down. 

'Tis  only  noble  deeds  and  truth  sublime, 

Not  wealth,  nor  place  of  height,  nor  loud  acclaim, 

That  may  withstand  the  sure  decay  of  time 
And  live  through  ages  in  undying  fame. 

THE   COTTAGE 

The  pomp  of  great  riches  and  the  glory  of  strife, 
A  dazzle  of  splendor  and  is  this  all  of  life  ? 
Is  life  in  a  cottage  with  its  roses  and  vine 
Not  worthy  of  mention  in  these  verses  of  mine  ? 


52  EVENING  PASTIMES 

'Tis  sweet  in  the  morning  in  the  glad  pearly  hour 
To  stroll  from  the  cottage  and  to  pluck  the  gay  flower ; 
'Tis  sweet  in  the  evening  as  we  come  from  afar 
To  hear  the  low  ripple  of  the  mellow  guitar. 

How  nice  in  a  cottage  at  the  close  of  the  day 
When  resting  from  labor  'twixt  the  dark  and  the  gray, 
To  laugh  with  the  children,  in  their  frolics  to  vie, 
Is  this  not  a  pleasure  that  no  silver  can  buy  ? 

Not  all  of  wealth's  splendor  though  it  charms  for  awhile 
Can  cheer  the  heart  lonely  like  a  friendly  sweet  smile ; 
No  mansion  though  towering  to  the  cloud  tints  above 
Can  make  the  heart  happy  like  a  cot  full  of  love. 

No  art  in  its  splendor  and  no  wealth  in  array 
Can  rival  the  beauty  of  fair  nature's  display ; 
No  hue  of  the  mountain  and  no  dash  of  its  stream 
Have  ever  been  equaled  in  a  painter's  glad  dream. 

The  charm  of  the  flowers  and  the  joy  of  the  sky 
Are  pictures  of  beauty  that  no  riches  can  buy ; 
The  air  and  the  water  and  the  bright  days  of  fall, — 
Full  half  of  life's  blessings  are  a  gift  to  us  all. 

No  song  full  of  rapture  and  no  verse  ever  told 
The  world  of  pure  gladness  that  a  cottage  may  hold 
Where  kind  words  fall  gently  as  the  dews  from  above 
And  home  is  all  brimming  with  the  fragrance  of  love. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  53 

THE  UNKNOWN 

There's  a  song  unsung  by  mortal  tongue, 
And  a  verse  unknown  of  heavenly  tone : 

Could  I  only  pen  that  verse  for  men, 
Could  I  only  play  that  song  today, 

Like  the  birds  of  spring  with  joy  I'd  sing 
For  the  sad  in  tears  my  song  of  cheers. 

There's  a  love  that  lies  deep  hid  in  sighs 
And  a  hope  unseen  still  fresh  and  green 

In  the  heart  untold  of  young  and  old ; 
In  the  far  away  some  sweeter  day 

Love  and  hope  will  bloom  from  out  the  tomb 
Into  flowers  of  gold  we  loved  of  old. 

THE   ZEPHYR 

Blow  softly,  light  zephyr,  o'er  the  crest  of  the  rose 
And  bear  its  sweet  fragrance  to  some  heart  full  of  woes ; 
Blow  softly,  light  zephyr,  through  the  curtains  of  lace 
And  drop  that  sweet  fragrance  on  some  gentle  pale  face. 

Sing  sweetly  your  music  through  the  boughs  of  the  trees, 
And  glide  o'er  the  meadow  with  a  motion  of  ease ; 
I  love  your  fresh  odor  in  the  blush  of  the  morn, 
The  smell  of  the  clover  and  the  tassels  of  corn. 


54  EVENING  PASTIMES 

Go  gather  the  rain  clouds  from  the  ocean's  blue  wave, 
And  blow  the  fresh  showers  o'er  the  land  of  the  brave, 
And  take  from  the  mountain  to  the  valley  below 
Its  balm  and  its  freshness  and  the  cool  of  its  snow. 

I  hear  your  soft  whisper  in  the  deep  of  the  night, 
The  hour  is  so  lonesome  and  the  stars  are  so  bright ; 
I  hear  the  sad  rustle  of  the  ivy's  green  leaf, 
It  shakes  and  it  trembles  like  a  heart  full  of  grief. 

O,  come  with  low  murmur  from  the  past,  through  the 

gray, 

And  bring  me  fond  memories  of  a  land  far  away ; 
A  gleam  of  old  faces  round  the  fireside  appears, 
A  picture  of  beauty,  through  the  dusk  of  the  years. 

They  are  gone,  they  are  numbered  with  the  sweet  things 

of  old, 

But  they  live  in  green  memory  like  bright  roses  of  gold ; — 
And  that  hour  is  the  sweetest,  though  the  saddest  of  all, 
When  we  sit  in  the  evening  and  old  friendships  recall. 

Go  kiss  the  white  petals  of  the  lily  so  glad, 
And  gather  its  gladness  for  all  hearts  that  are  sad, 
Then  steal  through  the  shutters  when  the  windows  are  up 
And  leave  that  pure  gladness  in  a  brimming  full  cup. 

Blow  gently,  light  zephyr,  o'er  the  crest  of  the  rose 
And  bear  its  sweet  fragrance  to  some  heart  full  of  woes ; 
Blow  gently,  light  zephyr,  through  the  curtains  of  lace 
And  drop  that  sweet  fragrance  on  some  tender  pale  face. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  55 

GOVERNMENT 

My  native  land,  I  love  but  pity  thee, 

O,  boasted  country  of  the  brave  and  free, 

I  ponder  o'er  thy  laws ;  what  do  I  see  ? 

Sweet  freedom  bound  with  heavy  weighted  chain 

Until  her  hands  and  feet  are  sore  with  pain. 

Too  many  governments  all  wrapped  in  one, 

The  government  business  so  overdone 

Until  perhaps  'twere  better  to  have  none. 

'Tis  true  some  rules  we  need  to  check  the  strong 

That  on  the  weak  they  may  commit  no  wrong ; 

But  know  ye  statesman  great  and  wise  and  grand, 

Ye  learned  rulers  of  my  native  land, 

That  there's  a  rose  called  wealth  of  sweet  perfume — 

You  prune  the  bush  too  much,  it  will  not  bloom, 

And  though  the  clime  is  fair,  the  long  day  sunny, 

The  work  bee  dies  because  there  is  no  honey. 

From  tropic  lands  of  orange-blossom  fame 

To  icy-crystal  shores  with  polar  name, 

Is  tyranny  not  everywhere  the  same? 

Is  despotism  acceptable  just  because 

A  passionate  majority  makes  her  horrid  laws? 

'Twould  brighten  hope  and  stifle  panic  fears, 

Enrich  the  poor  and  save  them  many  tears, 

Did  Congress  meet  once  only  in  ten  years, — 

Too  many  laws,  the  last  is  oft  the  worst, 

Until  the  lovely  land  with  law  is  cursed. 

Alas !  a  sadder  sight  I  never  saw 

Than  liberty  chained  hand  and  foot  with  law. 


56  EVENING  PASTIMES 

THE  ISLES  OF  REST 

There's  a  place  I  know  where  the  zephyrs  blow 
From  the  boughs  with  spice  perfumes  oppressed. 

Where  the  star  night  smiles  on  the  flowery  isles 
In  the  seas  of  sleep  with  rose  dreams  blest, 

Not  a  shadow's  trace  on  the  heart  or  face 
In  the  beautiful  isles  of  rest. 

When  the  day  is  done  and  the  parting  sun 
Leaves  the  gold  and  saffron  on  the  west 

And  we  lay  the  head  on  the  downy  bed 
As  a  bird  may  huddle  in  its  nest, 

O,  how  nice  it  seems  as  we  glide  in  dreams 
To  the  beautiful  isles  of  rest. 


When  we're  tired  and  worn  with  the  load  we've  borne 
And  our  troubled  hearts  are  sore  distressed, 

When  we  close  the  eyes  as  the  last  thought  dies 
In  the  soothing  folds  of  sleep  suppressed, 

O,  how  nice  to  go  where  no  cares  we'll  know 
In  the  beautiful  isles  of  rest. 

MY  OLD  FRIEND  TOM 

I  sit  today  beneath  the  tall  yard  tree 

With  old-time  memories  running  wild  and  free ; 

Far  in  the  past  there's  one  I  ne'er  forget, 

A  boyish  face  I  well  remember  yet ; 

Of  all  the  little  friends  my  boyhood  knew, 

O,  Tom,  I  always  thought  the  most  of  you. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  57 

And  like  a  dream  it  all  comes  back  to  view, 

How  in  the  summer  evening  just  we  two 

At  some  sweet  innocent  pastime  romped  and  played 

Beneath  the  apple  tree's  delightful  shade, 

Or  strolled  through  meadows  fresh  and  green 

Where  bumblebees  and  clover  blooms  were  seen : 

We  leaped  the  brook,  we  threw  the  singing  ball, 

We  whistled  back  the  redbreast's  merry  call 

And  played  with  joy  in  every  kind  of  weather 

When  Tom  and  I  were  happy  boys  together. 

And  when  at  school  the  children  sat  around 
And  ate  their  noon-hour  lunch  upon  the  ground, 
And  chattering,  laughed  and  ate  in  merriest  fun, 
And  I  was  awful  poor  and  so  had  none, 
Then  Tom  would  come  and  say  "Here,  Ed,  you  take 
A  great  big  bite  of  grandma's  ginger  cake." 
And  sometimes  in  the  overheated  game 
The  boys  got  mad  and  said  that  I's  to  blame 
For  some  mistake  (I've  seen  men  do  the  same) 
And  quarreled  outright  and  called  me  ugly  name, 
Then  Tom  he  just  stepped  out  and  swore  by  Ned 
He'd  lick  the  first  that  put  his  hands  on  Ed. 

The  years  of  life  have  swiftly  passed  away, 

I'm  growing  old,  my  hair  is  turning  gray, 

And  when  I  wander  down  the  cherry  lane 

I'm  forced  to  lean  upon  my  hickory  cane ; 

My  form  is  stooped,  there  're  wrinkles  on  my  brow, 

The  young  folks  often  call  me  grandpa  now. 


58  EVENING  PASTIMES 

I've  not  seen  Tom  for  many  and  many  a  day, 
Not  since  beneath  the  trees  we  used  to  play, 
But  yet  of  all  the  friends  I  ever  knew, 
My  old  friend  Tom,  I  still  think  most  of  you. 

How  pleasant  to  recall  with  vivid  truth 

The  little  friendships  of  a  happy  youth ; 

O,  does  not  memory  where'er  we  go, 

Quite  often  bring  to  mind  in  fervent  glow 

Some  face  we  knew  in  days  of  long  ago, 

Some  gentle  friend  of  many  a  pleasant  hour, 

Who  lives  in  memory  like  a  fragrant  flower? 

Whate'er  the  tender  passion  of  the  heart 

In  this  cold  world  the  best  of  friends  must  part, 

But  echoing  through  fond  memory's  marble  hall 

We  often  hear  their  old-time  voices  call, 

And  through  the  dreamy  past,  the  mist  and  rain, 

We  see  their  cheerful  faces  smile  again. 

THE  HIDDEN  HAND 

I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  know 

What  makes  the  summer  flower  grow ; 

I  often  wonder  to  behold 

The  tiny  buds  in  spring  unfold 

Their  pretty  leaves  of  pink  and  gold; 

They're  richly  painted  by  a  hand 

Whose  artist  touch  is  simply  grand; 

I  strive  in  vain  to  understand 

The  magic  gift,  the  wondrous  power 

That  paints  with  gold  the  little  flower; 


EVENING  PASTIMES  59 

I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  know 

What  makes  the  garden  roses  grow, 

I  only  know  I  love  to  see 

Them  grow  and  bloom  and  smile  at  me. 

I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  know 

Where  leads  this  winding  path  I  go; 

I  often  tremble  when  I've  found 

How  near  that  path  has  turned  and  wound 

Some  brink  of  danger  safe  around ; 

This  life  has  mysteries  dark  and  grand 

No  mortal  man  can  understand ; 

But  this  I  know — some  hidden  hand 

Is  kind  and  tender — when  I  see 

The  sweet  good  things  that  come  to  me; 

I  cannot  tell,  I  do  not  know 

Where  leads  this  earthly  path  I  go, 

I  only  know,  from  day  to  day, 

To  trust  that  hand  to  lead  the  way. 

GENIUS 

Fair  genius,  lovely  gift  that  all  admire, 
How  few  thy  touch  of  magic  e'er  acquire, 
Though  many  woo  thee  with  the  heart's  desire; 
'Tis  thine  to  do ;  to  wear  the  priceless  crown 
Too  bright  for  pompous  king  of  world  renown ; 
Tis  thine  to  flash  to  starry  heights  of  fame 
As  meteors  on  the  midnight  heavens  flame ; 
To  win  with  gentle  tact  the  hearts  of  all ; 
Enthuse  with  fiery  words  the  senate  hall 
Or  with  the  skilled  stroke  of  the  pen  in  hand 
Stir  men  to  noble  deeds  throughout  the  land. 


60  EVENING  PASTIMES 

0  poetry,  immortal  gift  divine, 

What  worlds  of  joy  and  riches  would  be  mine 
Could  I  but  scribble  here  with  gifted  pen 
A  graceful  line  to  cheer  the  hearts  of  men, 
Could  I  but  scroll  one  sentiment  sweet  and  strong 
To  live  forever  in  my  feeble  song; 
Alas !  too  well  I  know  in  harshest  strain 

1  strive  to  please  the  listening  ear  in  vain. 

REGRET 

The  moon  comes  up ;  her  robe  of  saffron  falls 
And  trails  light  o'er  the  lake  of  crystal  blue 
And  wide  around  are  arched  the  old  gray  walls, 
The  bright  eyed  stars  are  ever  peeping  through 
And  keeping  silent  watch  on  all  we  do ; 
If  there  be  written  on  their  leaves  of  gold 
The  page  of  history  hidden  from  our  view, 
How  many,  many  changes  would  be  told, 
Could  heaven's  midnight  stars  their  pearly  leaves  unfold. 

The  night  wind  blows  from  off  the  lonely  lake, 

It  moans  among  the  pines  a  sweet  refrain, 

So  strange,  so  low,  as  only  spirits  make 

When  grieving  o'er  sad  memories  in  vain ; — 

Could  men  but  live  this  life  all  o'er  again, 

How  they  would  change  from  their  wrong  selves  and 

how 

The  memory  of  sweet  deeds  would  drive  the  pain 
Of  vain  regret  from  off  the  aged  brow — 
Success  would  crown  that  life  where  all  is  failure  now. 


EVENING  PASTIMES  61 

PICTURES 

O,  the  memories  of  the  past, 
How  they  cling  and  how  they  last ! 
In  the  evening's  easy  chair 
O,  how  sweet  to  linger  there 
Weaving  into  brightest  hues 
Happy  dreams  of  old  home  views ; 
Pleasant  walks  that  wound  between 
Willows  drooping  on  the  green ; 
Smiling  faces  still  we  love, 
Old-time  friends  I'm  thinking  of; 
How  the  years  have  passed  away — 
O,  it  seems  but  yesterday 
That  we  strolled  on  evenings  fine 
With  her  dainty  hand  in  mine 
Where  the  roses  used  to  grow 
In  the  years  of  long  ago. 


O,  the  memories  of  the  tree 

With  its  pleasant  shades  for  me 

Where  the  apples  reddened  soon 

In  the  crimson  blush  of  June ; 

In  this  world  of  toil  and  care 

Oft  I  wish  that  I  was  there, 

In  thy  shade,  old  apple  tree, 

Where  no  troubles  wearied  me, 

Where  the  hours  through  evenings  long 

Ran  as  lightly  as  a  song, 

And  the  grass,  so  smooth  and  clean, 

Spread  a  velvet  mat  of  green ; 


62  EVENING  PASTIMES 

There  at  ease,  long,  long  I'd  lie 
Peeping  through  the  half  shut  eye 
At  thy  blossoms  white  as  snow 
In  the  years  of  long  ago. 

O,  the  memories  of  the  spring 
Where  the  mosses  used  to  cling, 
On  a  summer's  parching  day, 
To  the  cool  dank  rocks  of  gray ; 
Dear  old  spring,  I  love  to  think 
Of  thy  oaks  and  mossy  brink 
And  the  cup  so  fresh  and  cool 
Coming  from  thy  glassy  pool 
Where  the  pebbles  bright  and  clean 
In  thy  crystal  depths  were  seen 
Like  a  sweet  soul  laughing  through 
Large  round  eyes  of  tender  blue ; 
In  the  heart,  I  keep  to-day, 
Pictures  of  thy  rill  at  play 
Where  the  lilies  used  to  grow 
In  the  years  of  long  ago. 

O,  the  memories  of  the  room 
Shaded  in  the  evening  gloom 
Where  the  old  folks  chatted  on 
In  the  years  forever  gone, 
With  the  heart  as  gay  and  light 
As  the  warm  fire  sparkled  bright ; 
Like  a  dream  from  out  the  years 
Fancy's  picture  oft  appears 


EVENING  PASTIMES  63 

Of  the  lips  beneath  the  gray 
Kissing  all  our  tears  away, 
Of  the  face  that  used  to  greet 
With  a  smile  our  coming  feet 
And  the  hand  that  gently  spread 
Covers  on  the  trundle  bed 
With  the  pillow  white  as  snow 
In  the  years  of  long  ago. 

O,  the  memories  of  the  path 
Winding  through  the  aftermath 
With  the  breeze  of  fresh  perfumes 
Coming  from  the  clover  blooms 
Where  our  bare  feet  tripped  along 
As  the  redbird  piped  a  song; 
O,  the  golden  time  of  youth 
When  the  flowers  of  love  and  truth 
Into  purple  blossom  start 
In  the  meadow  of  the  heart  ; 
Sweet  the  picture  fancy  yields 
Of  the  red  barn  and  the  fields 
And  the  gray  horse  and  the  plow — 
I  can  see  the  long  rows  now ; 
These  are  things  we  used  to  know 
In  the  years  of  long  ago. 


YB  55800 


336130 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


